


Keep The Blood in Your Head

by bloodpopsicles



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Dennis Day - Freeform, Implied Suicide Attempt, M/M, Mental Health Issues, North Dakota was a bust, but they go through some shit, it all works out, post Dennis Double Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 15:42:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12192810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodpopsicles/pseuds/bloodpopsicles
Summary: Dennis returns from North Dakota, and he's not in good shape. The Gang decides to lift his spirit with an impromptu Dennis Day, forcing Dennis to confront some hard truths about who he is, who he's trying to be, and what counts as family.





	Keep The Blood in Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a reference to "The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows" by Brand New, and in text reference to "You Or Your Memory" by The Mountain Goats

Dennis had been back for a week before they decided to do it. They just couldn't stand seeing him stare into an ever-emptying glass, looking for something none of them could see.

He didn't say exactly what happened, but they all thought they knew and they were all right, in a way. Dee was right about the fight, but it was more one sided than anything. More Dennis digging in his heels while Mandy calmly, quietly repeated that he had tried, that it was ok. That it was for the best. Dennis had done all the shouting but her silence was louder.

Charlie was right about the kid, but not in the worst way. It wasn't that Dennis couldn't stand the little boy. He could more than stand him, he loved Brian Jr. Before the only love he felt was the shape of the word in his mouth, like placing an arrow in a bow. Love was to shoot, to wound. But he felt the love for this kid under his skin, a warm itch on the inside tugging his heart sore. What he couldn't stand was forcing “Brian” out from between his teeth every time he called for the boy. Brian was the name of a Canadian businessman, dead in an alley and missing a finger. Brian was a mask worn to force some sick satisfaction. Brian was evidence, and Brian Jr. was a reminder.

Mac was right about something Dennis couldn't say yet, something buried. Between monthly dinners and rocket launchers, a few sentences were never quite said but were understood all the same. They had come close, especially when Mandy arrived and they disguised it as a scheme, as a con. It had always felt like a con, after all, tenuous, dangerous. Make it a joke, a grift, honey and vinegar, but don't dare make it real. But it was close to materializing, hardening into a lead weight at the bottom of Dennis's stomach. It made him feel sick, but not hungover. Withdrawal.

And of course Frank was right, more than anyone. That a Reynolds could never cut it as a father. That somewhere in their code the gene was missing, or corrupted. A whole fucking 2 months, he had made it. Not even til fall. Stick around and it'll be worse for them, a small voice whispered when he reached bottom of the bottle of creme de menthe. Stick around and they'll hate you more. Because no matter the false confidence and deity envy, Dennis knew, of course. That he wasn't meant for this. He had tried the suburbs. And North Dakota was no place for a borderline, alcoholic psycho who can't even take care of himself let alone a wife and kid. They say you become your parents. For Brian Jr.’s sake, Dennis hoped he would take after Mandy.

So they talked it over, made a plan--wasn't hard to hide, since Dennis rarely saw or heard anything that wasn't a Heineken bottle or the foaming of a tap these days. Finally, they were ready. 

It was dawn, Mac had looked up the exact minute the day began. He checked his watch, took a deep breath, and opened the door to Dennis’s room. 

Next to the dildo bike Dennis lay on an air mattress that was deflating already. In the night Dennis had kicked off all his blankets, so he was just there, sinking into the middle of a twin sized slab of plastic. Exposed and uncovered, in nothing but boxers. 

Mac couldn't help but hesitate, just look. Dennis’s sleeping face in the pale light of earliest morning. Even in his sleep he was frowning. 

“Dennis…” Mac said quietly. Nothing.

A little louder this time. “Dennis?”

His best friend jerked awake, almost violently. “Wha-” 

Dennis glanced around with cloudy eyes, looking for the soft feminine body beside him. But there was just a dildo bike. And Dennis remembered.

He sighed and fell back onto the mattress with a flat slapping of skin on plastic. He rubbed his face. “Someone better be dead.”

Mac smiled down at his friend. “It's Dennis Day.”

Dennis froze, processed the information, then groaned and shoved his face into the pillows.

“No it isn't,” he answered, his voice muffled.

“Yes, it is,” Mac insisted, kicking the edge of the mattress.

Dennis reared his head like a snake ready to spit venom. “Then my first decree of Dennis Day is leave me goddamn be!”

Mac shook his head. “No can do, bro. We’ve been leaving you be ever since you got back, and that hasn't worked for shit. This is Old Dennis Day. We’re gonna do all your favorite things from before… before all this bullshit.”

Bullshit, Dennis thought. But he was too tired to pick a fight. To do much of anything.

“Mac, please, for the love of god, can you please just let me sleep?”

Mac looked down at his best friend. He was skinnier than usual, which was saying something. He had started sleeping 14 or 15 hours a day, and Mac did mean day. During the night hours Mac could hear Dennis creeping around the apartment, doing god knows what. Mac frowned, but nodded.

“Sleep in, dude. But come 9am, we’re on a mission. Dennis Day is here bitch, whether you want it or not.”

\-----

It was a nice thought, he had to admit, but Dennis would rather paint the walls with his brain matter than get off that blow up mattress. At least they were trying. But any time the Gang was moved to genuine effort and compassion to cheer one of them up, that meant that particular one was in deep shit. When the gang broke Dee, or when they materialized the insane illiteracies of Charlie’s dream book, it was because they got sick of looking at their depressing faces. Dennis hated the thought that they were looking at him like that, like Dee puffing cigs between mouthfuls of cake, or Charlie covered in rat’s blood. He hated the pity.

Then again, when he looked in the mirror, pitiful was the word that came to mind. Fucking horrendous. Pre-North Dakota Dennis, Before Mandy Dennis would have been appalled. His hair was shot through with streaks of grey, and his curls were unkept, almost wild. His skin was paler than usual, dull, with dark circles shadowing his eyes like a prizefighter. Cracked, dry lips, bloodshot eyes. He looked like he had been dead for a week, and he felt worse.

Dragging his feet and rubbing his eyes, Dennis walked into the living room to find Mac sitting up on the couch, grinning. His eyes were doing that crinkly thing at the edges. He looked like a golden retriever. Dennis clenched his teeth so hard his temple throbbed.

Mac smiled. “Just let it happen. You're gonna love it--I promise.”

\-----

He said nothing as they walked the few blocks to Paddy’s, just stared at the cracks and shattered glass on the sidewalk. Mac was walking fast, impatient, but Dennis dragged. Finally, they turned the corner and stood outside the bar.

There on the curb, Frank stood, hands on his hips, looking like a slightly larger garden gnome sans pointy hat. There it was, parked outside Paddy’s barred door--a dark green Range Rover. Conspicuously not on fire.

Dennis was silent. “What is this,” he asked, face betraying no emotion.

Mac was beaming. “It's your car, bro!”

Narrowing his eyes, Dennis answered “No, my car is a scrap cube, because apparently when I leave 99% of you imbeciles’ impulse control evaporates.”

Frank tossed Dennis the keys, which he caught clumsily. “We all felt real bad about burnin the shit outta your car. Well, they did, I thought it was funny. But anyway now that you're on suicide watch we thought eh, what the hell, let’s get the little prick a car.”

“You're so kind,” Dennis answered flatly, eyeing the Rover. “How the fuck did you find another 2004 Range Rover.”

Frank shrugged. “I got a guy.”

“He's got a guy, Dennis!” Mac grinned. “Get in, Frank tricked it out with a special surprise…”

Dennis sat in the driver’s seat, and Mac helped Frank up into the passenger side. Protruding from the cigarette lighter compartment was a poorly constructed plastic contraption, ending in a rickety circular ring. Like a cup holder, but--

“For ya cereal bowl,” Frank said.

Dennis furrowed his brow, opened his mouth. Closed it. He glanced over at Frank and Mac, proud of their accomplishment. Dennis kept waiting for the punchline, but nothing came. They may, very possibly, have been sincere.

“Thanks Frank,” Dennis offered quietly, placing his hands on the wheel.

Frank nodded. “You're welcome, son.”

Dennis frowned a little. “I'm not your son.”

Shrugging, Frank answered “I'm not your dad either, who gives a fuck?”

Dennis couldn't argue with that.

\-----

“Take a left up here at the light…” Mac was instructing, gesturing to an upcoming intersection.

“Will you just tell me where we’re going so I don't cause a pileup consisting of half of Philadelphia.” Mac’s directions always came seconds before the turn. But in truth Dennis would have been ok with crashing.

Mac shook his head. “Ruins the surprise! Besides we’re almost there. Oh yeah, here it is!”

Dennis narrowed his eyes, hesitantly turning into the lot and shifting into park. “Mac, this is a CVS.”

“I know!” Mac grinned.

Dennis pinched the bridge of his nose. “What have I ever done to make you think I would enjoy going to the pharmacy on Dennis Day?”

Mac’s wide grin faded into a sad, small smile. “You'll see.”

Dennis sat in the waiting area reading Cosmopolitan while Mac talked to someone behind the kiosk. After a few minutes, Mac returned, sat next to Dennis, and offered him a white paper bag.

Dennis took it hesitantly, reading the label on the outside. Topiramate. Zuclopenthixol. Citalopram. The words weren't unfamiliar.

“Mandy called, a few months ago,” Mac was saying somewhere. “Said you stopped taking your meds. So, I may have committed some light medical fraud--but good news is you're set for the next 90 days, every script.”

“We didn't get you pills for Mac Day, or Charlie Day. And god knows he needs some.” Dennis felt exposed. In need of fixing.

Dennis didn't know why he had stopped. Even he could admit that the cocktail of multicolored tablets and capsules he had swallowed every morning was working. He was more even, less angry, able to admit to feeling. For the first time, the character he had so expertly crafted from nothing, the man he inhabited and hid behind, was fading. The mask slipped, and the anger and control he had dug his bloody fingernails into seemed less and less important. 

But what was underneath? At least when he was crazy he had an adjective to wear like a button on his chest, an identity. When everything you are is illness, sometimes it can be scarier to imagine just who you are without. 

“They worked, but they made me tired,” he mumbled. “I couldn't be tired for Brian, not when Mandy worked nights. I had to be 100%. But then, it was like why bother. Why pretend to be something I'm not. It felt like lying to them. And I had already done that for too long.”

Mac nodded, brows furrowed. “Tell me something dude. Will you promise me you'll try again? You don't have to worry about that stuff with me, I've seen it all. And I'm sticking around.”

Dennis looked up at Mac, then back at the pill bottles in his lap. “We’ll see.”

\-----

The fact that Mac couldn't drive really did take most of the fun out of Dennis Day. Dennis was already sick of driving them to unknown destinations at Mac’s behest. But when Mac demanded Dennis turn toward a familiar strip mall, a spark of old excitement lit up Den’s face, a feeling that now felt unfamiliar, even foreign.

They found Charlie playing air hockey by himself (and somehow losing) when they entered the Dave and Buster’s. Admittedly, there wasn't really a crowd at 11am on a Tuesday, but that just meant no lines for the Jurassic Park shooter.

“Heeeeey buuuuddy…” Charlie offered hesitantly, looking Dennis up and down.

Dennis rolled his eyes. “Yeah, what's up, sure. Quick question--can you guys stop acting like I'm being put down at the vet tomorrow? Your concern is obnoxious as shit.”

Charlie looked at Mac, and they both shrugged.

“Whatever, man, let's just get some arcade steaks and girly drinks,” Mac answered.

“Oh shit, you think they got milk steak here?” Charlie squeaked.

Mac sighed. “No dude--”

“I mean no harm in askin’!”

It felt good to be stupid. To spend way too much money on slushy blue and pink drinks with names like Tropical Sunrise. To eat mediocre chain restaurant food and shoot aliens with lasers and rack up enough tickets to get a shitty plastic keychain. It was dumb and so were they and for the first time in months Dennis didn't feel ashamed by being the old him. The 40 year old playing permanent 23. Maybe, despite what his head and the mother of his child told him, he was never meant to grow up. 

\-----

After lunch they all piled into the Range Rover and drove much too fast on the freeway, blasting “The Boys Are Back in Town” with the windows down. Dennis screeched to a stop in front of the bar.

“Well dude, we’ll see you later. And you know I'll kick your ass on Guitar Hero next time,” Mac teased as they walked through the door to find the bar deserted, as usual.

“Wait hold up, where are you guys going?” Dennis’s smile faded. He was just starting to feel better.

Charlie answered, “Oh, it's Dee’s turn to do her thing. We got an outline and everything.”

As if summoned, Dee walked out of the back office. “That's right boners, scram, we got chick shit to do.”

Dee pulled into the mall, and Dennis’s interest was piqued. And when she demanded that he catch up as she entered Sephora, a ghost of a smile flittered over Dennis’s face. 

Dee had never been the partner in crime Dennis had hoped, although they had committed plenty. They just never had the sibling thing down, even all those years when they were all the other had in a house more prison than home. They protected each other, understood more than they let on, but there was too much going on in their respective heads to truly connect with anyone. They shared a womb and high tolerance, but not much else.

She had only ever made fun of him for the makeup thing. For being too femme, more femme than her. She would needle him about his foundation not matching his neck, or his mascara clumping, and it would set him off for hours of hypercritical self-flagellation. 

But today she led him into the store with a smile. When one of those workers in their ugly red and black dresses offered her a flimsy metal basket, Des sneered, snatched it out of the woman’s hand, and handed it to Dennis. 

“A ton of new shit has come out since you've been gone. Do they even have Sephoras in North Dakota? Or I mean Ulta, at least.” A kiosk caught her eye and she grabbed his hand, dragging him over. “Oh shit! See look, Too Faced brought back their peach palettes, and goddamn are they sweet…”

They spent over an hour, testing out different foundations, highlighters, contour powders and liquid lipsticks. Whenever an employee offered to help, Dee snapped “I think we know more than you, boomerang brows.”

Dennis kept looking at the shimmering swatches reaching up his forearm. Some of the reds looked more sinister on his wrists, reminiscent, but the soft pinks and silvers made him feel lighter. Pretty.

“Oh my god!” Dee exclaimed as she spotted the Anastasia Beverly Hills section. “Remember how these were sold out for months?”

“Is that Modern Renaissance?” Dennis asked, excitement lighting up his eyes. “Holy fuck, I've been dying to try this…”

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Dennis would get up out of bed, leaving Mandy slumbering soundly beside him. He would walk silently to the bathroom, lock the door, and slowly open her makeup drawer. Her shit was basic, Avon and Maybelline. Granted, she didn't need much to be beautiful. On those nights Dennis would paint his face like he used to, before he was scared she’d notice, before he started giving a shit if people thought he was queer. Before he was afraid she would start questioning things. He’d stare at his face in the mirror for as long as he could stand, then wipe it all off.

“Uuuuugh” Dee moaned, altogether inappropriately, as she smeared the buttery, intense colors on her already rainbow streaked arms. 

“God, it's so pretty,” Dennis said quietly.

“And it's all golds and pinks! You love gold, with your whole weird Golden God thing--”

“It's not weird.”

Dee cocked an eyebrow. “It is, it is weird. And you've always looked good in pinks, around the eyes. It goes good with your eyes.”

Dennis grinned. “Fuck yeah it does.”

Dee nodded. “We're getting it, and go grab those Urban Decay lipsticks you were eyeing, asshole. I'll meet you at checkout.”

\-----

Dennis walked through the apartment door, black and white striped bag in hand. Charlie was sitting on the couch, fingers orange from cheeto dust.

“Hey dude! You have fun lookin at uh… like eyeliner and stuff?” Charlie asked, licking his fingers.

Dennis smirked. “Yeah man. What's going on with you guys?”

Mac entered from the kitchen holding a giant bowl full of popcorn. The bowl they had stolen from Dee, for--

“Movie night!” Mac announced. “Remember when you wanted to watch Transporter 2 and I got mad because you were keeping my flower from flourishing and we broke up?”

Dennis stammered, blushing fiercely despite himself. “I-I wouldn't say we broke… I mean…”

“We never got to watch that movie! So I tracked it down. Do you know how many movie rental places have shut down? It's atrocious. Charlie got the snacks--”

“Well I brought a few sweet river trout I caught and some of Frank’s mayo eggs, but someone thought that popcorn and chips were better,” Charlie added, shooting a look at Mac.

“No one wanted nasty poisoned fish, Charlie!” Mac snapped.

“Hey, uh,” Dennis began, and the other two fell silent. “It's perfect. Mac is right, eggs and fish sound disgusting, but I mean… it's perfect.”

\-----

Transporter 2 was not as good as Predator. They could all agree on that, but very few movies were. 

Charlie left with an unceremonious “See ya dude, don't like kill yourself or anything!”

Dennis cringed, muttering “Jesus Christ, I'm not…” before trailing off when he felt Mac looking at him.

Mac checked the clock on the kitchen wall: 6:15. “Can you be ready in 45 minutes?”

Dennis raised his eyebrows. “Mac, this is too… This has been great, we can just stay in, I mean, you don't have to--”

Mac put his hand on Dennis’s shoulder, cutting him off gently. “Dude, you're gonna love it. Just let it happen. For once, don't try so hard.”

Dennis was locked in the bathroom for a long time, leaving Mac checking his watch, waiting, on the couch. He was wearing his tie and his two colognes, and he had slicked his hair back extra tight.

Just as Mac began to call for him, Dennis opened the door. He was wearing his formal light blue button up, and dark slacks. His curls were tamed and contained, and he had put his new makeup to good use--subtle gold glitter brought out his eyes and cheekbones. Dennis was smiling.

Mac smiled and stood. “You look so nice!” he said, before pulling a fake mustache out from his pocket. “Now put this on.”

Dennis’s beaming smile devolved into a scowl. “I spend my time crafting this beautiful outfit, applying my cosmetics and you expect me to wear a fake mustache. A fucking mustache Mac?!”

“Just trust me--”

“Is this the goddamn Murtagh mustache from Lethal Weapon 5?”

“Yeah!” Mac grinned. “And I'm wearing Charlie’s blonde wig. No one will know!”

“Who is no one?! Why are we wearing costumes?” Dennis asked, hysterically. He heard himself sounding wild, too aggressive, but he let it happen. It felt familiar, this argument, like a peg fitting into a slot. Muscle memory. Even in his anger he had to suppress a small smile. “Where are we going?”

The poster on the Guigino’s window read “BANNED: ‘The Gang’ is not allowed on the premises. If you see these individuals inform management,” with roughly accurate drawings of them all underneath. But the Dennis on the flyer didn't have a sweet stache, and Mac’s blonde pageboy bob seemed to fool the hostess. Somehow, they made it to a table.

“You look like the chick from Gone Girl,” Dennis snickered, unable to keep a straight face while watching Mac peruse his menu. 

“Well Dennis, she was a badass and that bitchass from Good Will Hunting had it coming, so thank you.”

Dennis was wired, feeling more alive than he had in forever. He forgot how fun it was to scam, scheme, grift. And he had a talent for it, or at least the stones to try. 

“God, I missed being mean,” Dennis sighed with a smile. “I missed monthly dinners, and movie night, the bar and Dee and Charlie, and you. I missed you, Mac.”

Mac’s mouth twisted up at the corner. “I missed you too.”

Dennis looked at Mac for a little too long before shaking it off and blinking a few times. 

The Waiter came to their table, stopping short when he noticed them. His eyes narrowed and his weak chin quivered a bit. Dennis thought maybe he would start crying. 

“Gentlemen,” the Waiter offered, his tone dripping with suspicion. “Have we had the pleasure of hosting you before here at Guigino’s?”

Dennis locked eyes with Mac and smirked under his mustache. “No I don’t believe so, me and my handsome companion here are visiting from… uh…” Dennis spoke in a gruff, deep voice, matching his Murtagh voice to his stache. 

“Früm Sveeeeden,” Mac offered hesitantly, using the same bullshit accent he copped when he tried posing as a plumber. Dennis struggled to keep a straight face. 

“Really?” the Waiter answered with a cocked eyebrow. “Because you two seem an awful lot like two guys who sent me to the ICU with 3rd degree spaghetti burns, but now you’re wearing costumes. Adult grown men in wigs and mustaches, for what? To finally push me over the edge?”

Dennis feigned offense, his accent swinging wildly towards the South. “Why sir you have indeed offended my sensibilities! My boy and I simply desired a piping hot plate of spaghetti--”

The Waiter clenched his teeth and sucked in a breath, his face turning crimson. “This is not happening again, get the fuck out of this restaurant!” he shouted. Everyone in the restaurant turned to see who was causing the ruckus.

“Heøw dehr jû seir!” Mac answered, trying not to break and failing.

“You treat my respectful party with such disdain?” Dennis exclaimed. “I should defeat you in a gentlemen’s duel where you stand, sir!”

A harried manager jogged over, his eyes wild and concerned. “Excuse me gentlemen, what seems to be the problem here?”

The Waiter began “These sons of bitches--”

“Ah! Ah!” Dennis interrupted, scoffing. “Your employee here asked us to pleasure him beneath the table!”

“What?!” The Waiter said.

“Eet vas deesgusteng, hees pēnis made me loose mei æppetite! Eet vas smol, end meeshapen!”

“Oh my god--” the manager stammered, looking accusingly at The Waiter.

Dennis shook his head in disdain. “I suspect it may be syphilitic, and this man works around food! Now I have many friends in high places who would absolutely gag when I tell them that such degenerates are in your employ!”

“No no no,” the manager answered. “Sirs, your dinner is on the house this evening, I’ll be sure to send over a new waiter. You won’t have to deal with this pervert again.”

“Are you fucking kidding me Alan!” The Waiter screamed while he was shuffled back to the kitchen. “I’ll kill you, you assholes!” he shouted at Mac and Dennis, who smiled and raised their glasses in a toast. 

\-----

“God, Mac that was amazing!” Dennis exclaimed, peeling off the mustache and stuffing it in his pocket. They were walking back to the car through a narrow alley behind the restaurant. 

His blood was crackling electric and his face hurt from smiling. The Philly sky hung thick with smog above, swirling pink and green, permanent sunset in the streetlights. Not like North Dakota. There the night was so dark and clear it seemed like Dennis was staring into a black hole, the stars so bright it always seemed to be snowing. Even in June.

There was the night in the motel. When it was decided he would leave, there was nothing for a plane ticket. His shifts at the Applebee’s bar all went to fund grocery trips and essentials for the kid--there was no money left for a nonstop to PHL when things fell apart. So he rented the cheapest car he could find at Enterprise, and set off on the 979 mile journey alone. 21 hours to think, 21 hours to wish he couldn’t.

He wanted to make it in one shot, foot on the gas till he ran up the curb on Paddy’s. But of course, sometime around Northern Indiana, the dashes on the highway began to blur together, a mad morse code blinking away behind his eyelids. So he pulled into the nearest parking lot with a vacant sign buzzing neon and checked in by the light of the moon.

Baby aspirin from the vending machine, Bartles and James from the minibar. Dennis rubbed his eyes and chuckled blackly at the paltry alcohol percentage. Might as well drink a fucking Capri Sun. That just meant it would take more to get there, and he needed, desperately, to get there. 

Dennis had hoped, but didn’t expect, to sleep. He was right.

He had started smoking again, somewhere in the midst of it all. He lay back on the stiff bedspread bathed in the fuzzy flickering light of the tv, cigarette dwindling down to ash between his fingers. Watched local news and late night talk shows, but he didn't see any of it. All he could see was the bottle of aspirin, the booze in the fridge, and an ending for it all in this motel room in Northern Indiana.

“It's so good to have you back, dude,” Mac beamed as they reached the Range Rover. “I hope you liked Dennis Day.”

Dennis leaned against the front of the vehicle. “Of course I liked it. I, uh… I think I needed it.”

“Yeah no shit,” Mac smirked, before his grin faded. He looked out at the street, the cars, the city skyline. “You know I worry about you, man.”

Dennis winced a little. “Wish you wouldn't.”

Mac shrugged. “But like. That's what I'm here for. That's what I signed up for.”

Dennis was quiet for a long time before finally saying “Not what Mandy signed up for. Or Brian. They had no idea.”

Mac opened his mouth but couldn't find an answer. He closed it.

“I couldn't do it.” Dennis hadn't let himself say it, but now, like a fresh wound, it would stop bleeding out of him once it started. “I tried, I thought maybe I was ok enough, finally. To try. But nope, all I ever did was scare them, hurt them, fuck everything up. One day my son is going to ask his mom about me and she'll either lie and say I'm dead or have to admit that his father was a psycho piece of shit who ruins everything he touches. Knowing Mandy she’ll lie, she's nice like that. Me, I'm the opposite of nice.”

Mac frowned, then offered “You're nice to me.”

Dennis laughed harsh and humorless. “That's the thing, no I'm not! I treat you like shit, and for god knows what reason you take it! And one of these days you're gonna wise the fuck up and find someone better. It's just a matter of time.”

They didn't look at each other. They stood side by side and faced straight ahead, Dennis out of breath and Mac looking at the ground. 

Eventually, Mac shrugged. “I don't think that's gonna happen,” he said simply.

“Oh yeah? Why not?” Dennis asked, half accusing half hopeful.

“Cause I love you, man,” Mac smiled. “And at this point I think we’re stuck together. I mean, who else could put up with my bullshit?” Mac perked up, the impish grin returning to his face. “I almost forgot, are you ready for one last surprise?”

Dennis blinked a few times, trying to process. A cautious smile came over him. “Yeah, I mean… sure.”

“Wait here,” Mac commanded with a wink as he disappeared behind the Range Rover. 

Dennis fell back against the hood, sighed, and shook his head with a smile. Being stuck didn't sound too bad.

“Ok,” Mac announced from behind him, and Dennis turned to look. 

Mac was holding the rocket launcher, locked and loaded with the grenade ready. 

“I felt real bad about blowin’ up your car, and you loved it so much the first time--”

“Mac,” Dennis interrupted, a huge smile on his face. “Let's light this motherfucker.”

\-----

LOCAL RESTAURANT BADLY DAMAGED, GRENADE LAUNCHED INTO STOREFRONT  
Suspects, Southern Man and Swedish Prostitute, Still At Large


End file.
